Your skin’s a traveling bag of your existence/
Yours is shabby and scabbed while mine’s glistenin’


You on Twitter, but nobody followed you/
And that’s unusual, I can’t even Google you


I got a feelin’, nigga really, that my money be the root/
Look up at the stars, she like, ‘Honey, where da roof?’

—Rick Ross

For real, I’ll be diligently killin’ the soliloquies/
Of these millipedes that try to pass themselves off as ill MCs

—Brother Ali

You can put your whole army against my team and/
I guarantee you it’ll be your very last time breathin’


Photo shoot fresh, lookin’ like wealth/
I’m ‘bout to call the paparazzi on myself